“We’d like some drinks. The lady will have a—” “Tom Collins,” we both say at the same time. Sutton gasps. Oh fuck. “Actually,” Sutton starts, “no Tom Collins for me.” Her eyes bore into mine as I cringe at my mistake. Motherfucker. “I appreciate you ordering for me, Callahan, but I’ve found that I’ve rather gone off its taste if I’m honest.”
